


Strange Camaraderie

by solaireplz



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Eventual Sex, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, not sure about comfort part but eh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solaireplz/pseuds/solaireplz
Summary: A former darkmoon blade is raised by the bell to collect the Lords of Cinder. Though they could care less about their true duty, they venture on so they may find their former Lord.But we all know how such a mission would end.Eventually swept in despair, they decide to finish one last task for the Masked Knight and his Goddess before they go hollow.





	1. I want you to be

Defeating the devourer was difficult. Most of his attacks were easily handled, but the monster had somehow stolen Lord Gwyndolin's bow, which posed quite a problem for the unkindled. The rain of arrows homing in on the undead, and piercing their shield and armor as well, dealt devastating amount of damage to the undead and it was not something to take lightly. Most times, they were running around the sludgy field desperately trying to dodge the arrows. Of course the damn bloated cleric caught onto this quickly, and was spamming the arrows nearly every moment they had to spare. Regardless, the undead was a determined one, and eventually over time was finally able to fall the accursed devourer.

The unkindled decided to take a rest at the bonfire and return to the shrine. They wondered what Ludleth could tell them about Aldrich’s soul. Perhaps it would clue them on about Gwyndolin’s whereabouts?

The unkindled pursed their lips under their helm. 

Yorshka... The girl who was now the Company Captain of the Darkmoon Blades and a sister to their Lord Gwyndolin spoke of how Gwyndolin fell ill and then the sorcerer claimed himself Pontiff. She knew little, but what she said and what the unkindled knew was enough for the risen blade of the darkmoon to surmise that he was responsible for Gwyndolin’s disappearance.

Rising from the bonfire, the knight gave a curt nod to the Firekeeper. She politely replied with a nod of her own. The unkindled averted their eyes. Ashen one. She would call them. No, they were just ‘unkindled’, and nothing more. 

In truth, all they cared about since rising was finding Lord Gwyndolin and offering their service to him again. And if they wished the unkindled to sacrifice themselves to prolong the flame again? They will. But the only reason the unkindled had collected the Abyss Watcher’s and Aldrich’s soul was only because they were in the unkindled’s way. Not because they thought themselves capable of Lordship. That thought guilt the unkindled to no end. The Firekeeper deserved a much better Lord.

Ignoring nagging feeling of failure, the unkindled followed straight up the steps, and presented Ludleth with Aldrich’s soul. Ludleth seemed excited enough, it was what little he could occupy himself with while the unkindled was about collecting the Lords’ souls. 

Ludleth, who was transposing Aldrich’s soul for the undead, was about to offer them the options they had, before their face fell in what seemed like... pity?

“Ludleth?”

“...Oh dear. You said you were a blade of the darkmoon before you became unkindled, yes?”

“...Yes, but why does that...”

Suppressing the growing anxiety within their hearts, the unkindled urged Ludleth to tell them what the soul showed. Ludleth looked at the unkindled sadly and read out what he could surmise from the Lord’s soul.

 

-

 

Numbly, the unkindled traced the couch which Gwynevere’s illusion used to lay on. 

 

He was gone. 

 

They failed.

 

 

The unkindled could feel their sanity slipping. So this is it then. They would die here. Become a mad hollow. A failure.

At least they avenged their Lord.

Surely someone else can take up the mantle of ‘The Champion of Ash’. They were only unkindled after all. Haha...

 

Laying their head on the arm of the couch, the unkindled closed their eyes and finally- 

A slight quiver in their pockets dragged their consciousness away from the dark.

 

The unkindled mindlessly drew out the black orb within their pockets. Ah, this is Rosaria’s...

...Oh yes, Rosaria’s killer. 

Naturally, the unkindled’s thought ventured to the masked knight who essentially guided them to her. Yes... When they joined her covenant, he was there. The unkindled could never thank the man and the goddess enough for what they did for them. After joining the covenant, they went back to the shrine, and Sirris of the Sunless Realm said their strange and hostile goodbye and... feeling uneasy, the unkindled went back to Rosaria’s chambers to only find her dead with no knights who guard her in sight.

The unkindled felt the panic they felt at the scene crawl back, and it was exactly what they needed to jolt them awake from their hollowing. The masked knight. Leonhard. They worried for him. Did Sirris kill the man? Did he die and disappear into ash while guarding his Goddess? The unkindled paced around her chambers for hours, waiting for the man. To tell him that Sirris has likely killed her, and they would gladly offer him their aid if he wishes it. 

But he never showed up.

Pocketing the black orb, the unkindled had desperately wished he hadn’t gone hollow and mad. Though nothing ever really happened between them, and the unkindled knew the man didn’t know of their feelings, he was... special to them. 

They wanted the man to be happy.

So, they would do this one last thing for him. They will kill the perpetrator, and revive Rosaria. Then they could finally go hollow. After all, what else are unkindled ashes good for?


	2. Hollowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unkindled hollows.

Even among the blades of the dark moon, they were considered strange. They went on hunts day and night, presenting the Dark Sun Gwyndolin with souvenirs of reprisal nearly every day. However rarely, they would rest by a bonfire to talk about the hunt to any willing to listen. They would offer advice to those like them, who hunt down the sinners of Lordran, but eventually it would devolve into long-winded praise of their Lord Gwyndolin.

They were a strange one, the reclusive firekeeper would say. The undead shrugged, it was not the first time they heard so.

By the time they threw themselves to the flame, they must have presented at least a thousand souvenirs of reprisals to their God.

 

-

 

The unkindled one finally disarmed the masked knight with a sweep, and with a swift kick to his stomach, the knight collapsed onto his back, his form open for the taking.

The Ringfinger looked up at his would-be killer, a twinge of fear striking his heart. The unkindled’s expression was unseeable through their helm as they slowly approached the silver-masked knight.  
So this is it then. He would die here, without being able to protect his goddess’ soul. Blessed Rosaria…

Unknowing, or perhaps uncaring of the masked knight’s inner turmoil, the unkindled raised their weapon-

-then striked his head left, knocking him unconscious.

 

-

 

Perhaps they had already gone hollow.

Perhaps their minds were conjuring up these events just to torture them. To punish them for their weakness. Because they had abandoned their duty. For failing him. 

…Him? Who? Their Lord Gwyndolin? Or the other man they came to care for. Leonhard?

Ahaha… Both. Obviously.

How pathetic. 

 

The unkindled looked down at the man’s unconscious form, and picked up the blade which lay far off to their side.

 

A blade pulsating with the power of the moon.

 

Pushing their self-loathing aside, the unkindled pondered on this. Their eyebrows knitted involuntarily. This was all too confusing. They knew a dark moon blade when they saw one. Why did Leonhard have this?

His mastery in sorcery, his clothing… The unkindled one somehow figured the masked knight would be of noble descent from that but…

…

…What does it matter? They were going hollow anyways. 

The unkindled realised they couldn’t care less. So what if they were both a blade of the dark moon? What if they weren’t? Gwyndolin was dead. 

 

…Why were they here? Oh yes. To revive Rosaria.  
Bending down, the unkindled one put down his blade next to him and numbly patted out and rummaged through the unconscious killer’s outer coat. No, he must have hidden it deeper.  
They should undress him… Their hands hovered over Rosaria’s killer’s hunter-like attire.

Suddenly the man’s hand seemed to twitch. Hm? The unkindled grasped the man’s hand. Did this move? …Ah. Is the man regaining consciousness already?

Then wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him first? He would surely drop her soul then. Yes, they should kill him.  
Kill Leonhard.

…What?

The unkindled released their hold on the masked knight’s hand.

As if waking from a feverish dream, they felt clarity rush back to them. No, no! Why did they get so battered up like this? Sirris?

No.

The unkindled fell the man.

…Why?

To revive Rosaria.

Why?

For… because…

Why?

They had to.

Why?

For, Leonhard.

Why?

Because she was his goddess.  
His one and only love.  
Only love.

Why?

…Love.

Why? Why? Why?

They were suffocating.  
Gods, gods. What was happening to them. The unkindled abruptly stood up, but they soon fell to their knees.

No, no, no… Not here… Not now…

They desperately unclasped their helm and threw it to the far side of the room. Ungloving themselves, they saw their still smooth hand and ran it over their face. They could feel they were not hollow yet.

But they still felt bile rise from their stomach at the fact they even thought of killing the Ringfinger.

They desperately opened their estus flask and drank the last drop of their estus. Momentarily pushing away the dark again, this time the unkindled rummaged through the masked knight’s attire with renewed purpose. They were pretty much tearing the noble garment to shreds, through it they could see bare skin, covered in ragged painful scars of a severe burn. If they had been more sane, they would have blushed and scolded themselves for what they were doing- but they weren’t. They couldn’t even feel a sliver of lust through their already hazy mind.

Ah. Found it. Here it was… now they can just…

 

Something grabbed at the unkindled’s wrist, and suddenly, they realised they were being pushed-

The masked knight was towering over their fallen form.

Masked knight.  
Rosaria’s killer.  
Ringfinger Leonhard.

“You sick, vile beast…”

He was talking.

“A knight of the Goddess does not give in so easily. Did you really think you could have your way with me?”

Distantly the unkindled realised his blade was right below their exposed throat.

“And to leave my weapon so close as well… Did you want to torture me with it near so you could see me desperately claw at it while you ravaged me? Is that it?”

They loved that voice.

“Well, it seems your plan was for naught. Sickly fiend. Now you will…”

They loved him.

“…What?”

They wanted to revive Rosaria for him.

“…Why… If you are trying to get yourself out of…”

But they failed. Now they are getting their punishment. As they deserved.

The dark was drawing away the last vestige of their sanity.

Even so, to see the form of the one they loved so dearly in their last moments of sanity.  
And to offer their souls to them and be of use to them even in death.

They are truly blessed.

Truly.

The unkindled fixated their eyes on the man and welcomed the incoming darkness…

…

 

They felt a blinding pain to their head. The pain distinctly registers. Did the man want to beat them to death? What a bloody mess that would be. Yet that too, would be fitting.

“Look at me.”

Another hit. Not enough to break skull. It will be a long and painful death then.

“Curses! Don’t you dare say such cryptic things and then go hollow!”

He was holding them by the collar, drawing them up. His intense eyes also fixed on them through his mask.

 

Leonhard just couldn’t understand. Just kill them already. What was wrong with him? With them? Leonhard knew that all this nonsense was a blabbering of the dying. That all this was just so they could not be killed by the Ringfinger. As if whisperings of love could make the Ringfinger hesitate.

But another part of himself knew that not a single word which left the unkindled’s mouth in their last moments were lies.

Last moment.

They were so obviously hollowing. Slowly, almost at a snail’s pace, but surely. Yet desperately holding on. To what?

The unkindled’s eyes still reflected that disgustingly pure unadulterated love. Though it seemed to fade with every passing second.

What a sick joke.

Looking at Leonhard as if he was their God.

He knew that none of it should matter to the knight of the Goddess.

And yet.

None have ever looked at him that way in this dying world. None ever did look at anyone like this. Love was such a forlorn and tarnished concept in this world of dying fire.

And thus.

He wanted it.

“If you truly love me, and your words are not lies…”

He drew their face closer by the collar. Their lips almost touching his silver mask. He almost felt as if he was drowning in the unkindled’s eye. So full of adoration. It made his hair stand on its end and skin prickle. He hated how it actually affected the cold merciless knight.

“Do not leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmmmm........hmm....hmmm? Hmmm! Hm...no....no......hmmmmm (More knights of Catarina sounds)
> 
> ...Some things are better left a mystery anyway, so Leonhard's past won't get too much focus.  
> Anyway, I hope the opening kinda makes it clear how crazy and obsessed the unkindled was with Gwyndolin, and how Gwyndolin dying was a big deal for them.


End file.
